Chapter 18 Nape of the Neck
Chapter 18 Nape of the Neck
“Don’t flinch, Eris. Ink is like destiny—once it sinks in, there is no turning back.”
Vera’s voice was calm but resonated with an eerie authority as she guided me into a cold, steel chair within the Inking Suite. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic warred with the metallic tang of tattoo ink. Tonight was the night of the Branding. Every Protege who clawed their way into the Top 10 had to be marked. The sign of the Black Rose.
She swept my hair over one shoulder, exposing the nape of my neck—a vulnerable stretch of skin where the bone sits close to the surface.
“Why the neck?” I asked, forcing my breathing to remain steady as the low, rhythmic buzz of the tattoo needle filled the room.
“Because the neck is where a human is weakest,” Vera replied, swabbing the skin with alcohol. “A single shallow cut, and you are finished. But it is also where the yoke is placed on a beast of burden. This mark is Madame Viveca’s ultimate reminder: you belong to her, mind and body.”
The first prick of the needle was a shock. Sharp. Searing. It felt like a thousand hornets burrowing into my skin at once. I gripped the armrests until my knuckles turned white, but I didn’t make a sound. This physical sting was a trifle compared to the ache of the past.
As the black ink settled into my dermis, Vera leaned closer to my ear. Her hand remained rock-steady, but her voice dropped to a ghostly whisper that seemed to come from another world.
“Did you know, Eris… before I became the Sanctum’s seamstress, I was your mother’s personal tailor?”
My world stalled. The buzz of the machine became nothing more than white noise. “What did you say?”
“Do not move,” she cautioned, carefully etching the curve of a petal. “I knew Isabella Valderama. She was magnificent, just like you. But her beauty was a curse. During your family’s golden years, she often came to me requesting gowns with high collars and long sleeves. Do you know why?”
A cold dread settled in my stomach.
“Because of the bruises,” Vera whispered. “They didn’t come from your father. They were the result of the ‘gifts’ and ‘incentives’ Viveca sent to your mansion. Viveca was sabotaging your mother’s sanity long before your father was ever arrested. She fed Isabella forged photos—poisonous lies that slowly eroded her soul. I saw the hidden welts, the cigarette burns on her shoulders that she hid beneath my silk creations. Your mother didn’t just commit suicide because of the scandal, Eris. She was driven into a corner by a monster who wanted her life.”
Vera’s words transported me back to the last night I saw my mother.
I remembered the scent of lavender and the snip of scissors in her dressing room. My mother was standing before a full-length mirror, draped in a new Vera original. I had entered to show her a school project, but I saw her wince as she lifted her arm. Vera was there, pinning the fabric.
“Mommy, are you okay?” I had asked.
She had smiled, but the light never reached her eyes. “It’s just the fabric, Margo. It’s too tight.” But I had seen it—a flash of deep purple bruising against her ribs. I thought it was an accident then. I didn’t know it was the mark of Viveca slowly consuming our lives. The silk Mommy wore wasn’t an ornament; it was armor to hide her slow destruction.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked softly, the ink slowly taking the shape of the Black Rose.
“Because I am tired of sewing shrouds for the living,” Vera answered, her voice laced with bitterness. “I’ve watched you for three years, wondering how long you’d last. But after seeing what you did to Silas and the Prince, I knew. You are the Valderamas’ final card.”
Vera lifted the needle, wiping away the excess blood and ink.
“If you want to finish the war your mother started, you need more than beauty,” she continued. “There is a safe in Julian’s private study. Inside his bedroom, behind the portrait of the first Thorne Matriarch. Julian thinks he’s hiding your secrets there to protect you, but he doesn’t realize that is also where Viveca keeps her ‘Master List’—the record of every asset she has bought and sold.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I was the one who hid it there,” Vera said, plunging the needle in for the final detail of a thorn. “Julian is weak when it comes to you, Eris. He keeps his door unlocked at exactly 3:00 AM every Tuesday for the security rotation. Use it.”
The machine fell silent. Vera cleaned the area and held up a mirror.
The Black Rose was etched into the back of my neck. It was hauntingly beautiful—a dark jewel blooming from my spine.
“To them, this is a brand of slavery,” Vera said, applying a protective film. “But to me, it is the mark of your ascension. The Black Rose only blooms in the dark, Eris. And right now, the darkness is your greatest ally.”
I stood up, feeling the raw throb in my neck. I looked at Vera, the silent guardian who had carried my family’s secrets for a decade.
“Thank you, Vera. Not just for the mark, but for the truth.”
“Don’t thank me until you’ve burned this house to the ground,” she replied, turning back to pack her tools.
I walked out of the Inking Suite, every step carrying a new weight. The Black Rose on my neck wasn’t a yoke. It felt like a weapon. A reminder that my mother’s blood flowed through my veins, and every bruise she hid under silk would be repaid by the Thornes in blood.
I encountered Julian in the hallway. His eyes immediately drifted to the bandage on my neck. His expression was a portrait of agony, as if he wanted to reach out and scrub the mark away with his own hands.
“It’s done,” I said, walking past him without slowing down.
“Eris, wait,” he called out, but I didn’t look back.
3:00 AM. Tuesday.
I had three days. Vera’s revelation about my mother had stripped away my last shred of hesitation. Viveca hadn’t just stolen our wealth and our name; she had stolen the dignity of a woman who only wanted to protect her children.
I entered my quarters and faced the mirror. I pulled my hair back and stared at the Black Rose.
Look at me, Viveca, I whispered into the empty room. You branded me thinking you finally won. You thought you turned the daughter of Isabella Valderama into another one of your toys.
But you were wrong. This rose has thorns you never anticipated. And every drop of ink in my skin is a slow-acting poison that will kill the Sanctum from within.
The Branding wasn’t my end. It was my declaration of war.
And come Tuesday, Julian Thorne will realize that his private sanctuary is no longer safe from the ghost he tried to cage.
I am no longer just a protégé.
I am the Black Rose.
And I am coming for everything you own.